Still Will Be
by newsbians
Summary: They needed a leader, one who could sit up and say words and lead them. The boy who was lying there, helpless, getting cleaned by an eleven year old, wasn't their leader. He was just a boy.


The last punch of the battle sent Jack reeling. It flung him backwards, and suddenly he was landing hard on the cobblestone street with a sickening crack. The fall was enough to knock the wind out of him and there was a moment of breathless panic, chest aching and hands clutching at nothing. His cheek felt like someone had lit a match under him and there was blood already pooling in his mouth. The no-name scabber who had socked him leered down at him, taking time to enjoy the fear in the boy's eyes before sauntering away. _He's got's the nerve,_ Jack thought, _ta jus' walk off. Because no one's gonna stop 'im._ No one would fight him because all of them were battered beyond repair. Everyone lay in the street looking broken- or worse. And Jack didn't want to think about "or worse" right now.

It was clear the fight was over. Even their fearless leader, Jack, was on the ground. He looked around for a second to see the defeated look on all of their faces before hearing the yell. "JACK!"

He flung his body around at the sound, and saw Crutchie being dragged away. "NO!" He roared, trying to get up before collapsing on the floor again. Crutchie's eyes widened with panic as they continued to pull the helpless boy away from the newsies, who were too slow, too injured, too tired to run after him. Jack sat in agony as Crutchie's cries followed him around the corner and inevitably, Jack knew, the Refuge. Slumping to the floor, his eyes began to close. _No, wait, this can't happen now, I have to check on my boys-_ Darkness _._

He woke up on a lumpy mattress that he could identify as the Lodge's by touch, because his eyes couldn't open. Wouldn't open. Slowly moving his head toward the soft chatter, Jack forced his eyes open just enough to let light in. The Lodge was full of the newsies in different levels of broken, some boys well enough to have gotten out of bed and started taking care of the other kids. Some were still out cold and a couple boys sat up slightly in their beds, sporting black eyes, split lips, or bloody, tangled legs that meant they were bound to bed. The bed directly across from him had Racetrack Higgins, staunching the flow of blood coming from his nose. Jack could see the four holes lined perfectly along his cheekbone, which was now out of place and raised to create a swollen black eye. He growled inside. Damn Delancy's didn't know how to keep to themselves in a fight. Race nodded softly at something someone was saying and gestured at Jack with a small lift of his elbow. He heard a small 'yes' uttered.

Boots came into sight, holding a dirty piece of flannel dripping with water. His other arm was tied up into a sling, but there was no other visible injuries. Jack sighed slightly with relief when he saw this. Just as the fight started, Boots and Les's orders were to take the younger kids and run. He thought he had seen Les later on, before he had gotten knocked out, so Jack was glad to know that the kids got out somehow. Boots gently lifted the cloth to Jack's cheek, causing him to wince in pain. Boots brightened. "You awake, Jack?" He said, causing people to look his way. He tried to force a grunt out, but to no avail. So he lifted his eyebrows as far as he could, hopefully insinuating that he was conscious. A couple boys sighed in relief, and they all began muttering in worried tones. Boots turned around and shushed them while letting the cool water drip around Jack's face, causing him to wince again when it hit an open wound on his jaw. Boots whispered words of apologies as he worked his way down to Jack's chest.

This caused an involuntary gasp of pain. The water began washing out a slash on his chest, wide enough to know that this wasn't the work of a scab. This was Morris Delancey and his four inch blade he kept tucked between his sock and shoe. _Cheap shot_ , Jack thought, taking short breaths to control the pain. He didn't want the boys to think that he was in more agony than he could take. They needed a leader, one who could sit up and say words and _lead_ them. The boy who was lying there, helpless, getting cleaned by an eleven year old, wasn't their leader. He was just a boy.

Gathering all of his strength, Jack pushed himself up on one elbow. The boys stared at him with pity, but let him have his moment. "Men." Jack gasped. "Ya fought well. That's all I's could ask from ya." They all smiled softly, before returning to their varied states of pain. Jack collapsed back onto the bed, letting his eyes close. The last thing he remembered (possibly) was a boy in the bunk over, softly crying into a pillow.

Jack woke up to a completely different room. Night had fallen and most of the boys were asleep. He could now open his eyes without strain, so he stared at the panels of wood on the roof and let the situation wash over him.

Crutchie was in the refuge. Boys were probably dead. Injured badly, at the least. He had a slash in his chest that would probably get infected if he didn't get to Madame Tibby, a cheap home remedy healer that Medda had recommended. Which boys were where was still a mystery. There was no way Spot would let Brooklyn join the strike now. Jack didn't know where Davey was.

 _He didn't know where Davey was._

Jack sat up so quickly his vision went dark for a second. He shook it off, and looked over his railing to land eyes on Race, who was playing a hand game with a piece of string. "Racer," Jack whispered. "Race."

Race looked up, his game paused in mid-air. "Nice ta sees ya alive, Cowboy." His voice was gravely and his lip was still bleeding profusely. In the dark room, he looked terrifying. If he wasn't holding a children's toy, Jack might've been scared.

"How's everyone holdin' up?" Jack kept his voice down, making sure that he didn't wake anyone up. They all needed rest. They all deserved rest. "Did Dave drop by?"

Not understanding, Jack watched Race sigh deeply and lie back down. The string disappeared under layers of blanket. "Go ta sleep, Jack."

"Racetrack Higgins, if someone don't tell me where David goddamn Jacobs is right now-" Jack had Race's shirt by the neck, twisting until he pushed Jack off. Everyone was silently watching the fight unravel, beginning with Jack waking up and panicking (again) that he didn't know where Davey is, was, or if he was okay. After denying Jack the information, Jack had slammed Race against the wall and demanding information.

Jack's chest heaved. His wound hadn't closed yet. His sight was going. So was his strength. "Fine." Releasing Race and shoving him into the wall. "I'll go ask myself." He started to make his way out of the door before a voice stopped him.

"Davey's dead, Cowboy." Specs said, stopping Jack in his footsteps.

Jack turned around slowly. His eyes found Specs, who was wringing his hat between his hands nervously. "Morris gotem' after he slashed you. We all's thought you weren't gonna wake up either. Sarah came ta get em yesterday." He spoke so softly that the sentence trailed off into nothing. Jack stared at Specs, stared so hard that he shied away, sneaking behind Romeo.

Jack walked away.

 **CASE NUMBER** : 8392

 **DATE** : 7/25/99

 **REPORTING OFFICER** : W. SNYDER

 **PREPARED BY** : E. KEAST

 **INCIDENT** : FRANCIS SULLIVAN, Arrested, forcibly attacked MORRIS DELANCEY, Injured, with intent of murder. Charged with violent disorder.

 **DETAIL OF INCIDENT** : SULLIVAN attacked DELANCEY with a four inch, serrated paring blade with a blue handle, letters U. D. engraved. _Weapon is now in Evidence_. W. SNYDER arrived on scene approximately two minutes after attack on DELANCEY. Two stab wounds _(Possibly fatal)_ visible on SULLIVAN'S torso. One slash _(Three inches, Non-fatal)_ to DELANCY'S arm. DELANCEY under urgent medical attention. SULLIVAN taken to Refuge, children's prison, no medical attention given. SULLIVAN'S health status is unconfirmed.


End file.
